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t3chborb · 1 month

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Date of Manufacture

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: E WC: 4K Warnings: N/A =

This is a fic/art collab between me and @t3chborb!! Go check out the awesome matching art here: [link!]

"I understand the practice in humans, but the anniversary of the Awakening is the anniversary of my existence. That would be a better comparison to a birthday. " He grumbles, but doesn't move away from you. Which would be hard anyway, with your limbs currently wrapped around his wide chest, legs laid upon his in your shared bed.

"But that wouldn't have happened if you weren't manufactured today." You snuggle in closer, rub your cheek against the silky texture of his scarf.

The pistons of his neck slide downwards, lowering his chin to look at you more closely. He quiets, before murmuring, "Few humans would celebrate that."

"Well I don’t particularly care what other humans think.," You declare immediately, tightening your grip around him. "I want to celebrate because I'm glad you were made. I'm glad you're here."

Ramattra's ventilation huffs warm air from the recesses of his body, but he gently returns the gesture, pressing lightly on your back. "Fine. Then how would an Omnic celebrate their birthday?"

You laugh softly, "Well I don't know, it's your birthday… but I have a few ideas." Only then do you untangle your body from his. Ramattra’s fingertips linger on your skin as you roll towards the edge of the bed. Before you can second guess it, you fish out a black satiny box, wrapped with a purple ribbon. You’d tucked the gift there earlier, in hopes of surprising him.

But now, you do pause, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t know what to get you, since you can’t eat and don’t need much and don’t really wear clothes-- and I don’t know they’ll even fit right-”

Ramattra sits up. “You got me a gift?”

“It’s your birthday. Of course I did.” Finally, you offer him the box. It’s frivolous, but you still hope he likes it.

He stares at the box for a moment, holding it in his hands for several cycles of his processors. A nervousness builds in you, though his delay is purely shock. It’s been… He’s not sure. Years. Was it the last Awakening Day before London? Ages since anyone had given him anything.

He pulls on the ribbon and lifts the lid. Inside, carefully wrapped in thin layers of packing foam, are dozens of little ornaments. You can only watch as he pulls one from the protective packaging, examining it. “I know some of yours looked a little worn down. Scratched ‘cause they knock together so much.” He pulls the foam off and reveals exactly what you got him: new end caps for his cables, coated with purple enamel, the same shade he’d used on himself.

Ramattra holds the end cap, turning it before his optics. “Thank you.” He’s so quiet it almost masks the strain in his vocoder. Replacing such a cosmetic part would be so low on his priority list, he never would’ve changed them if you hadn’t gotten them. In fact… he hasn’t changed them at all since he’s installed them, didn’t update them when he changed his paint. “This is… thoughtful.”

The praise makes you grin, relief washing over you. And only builds as he takes one ribbon cable loc and effortlessly pulls the old, dinged and dulled cap off and attaches the new, shiny purple one. The color itself is minimal, but the cord being pulled forward, out of its normal hiding place of pushed back and tucked into his cowl makes your cheeks heat anyway. He looks good, as though he’s dressed up with tiny accessories.

“Do you… want to put on all of them?” You ask, scooting closer and not bothering to mask your excitement. “I got enough- and some spares.”

Ramattra nods and shows you how to swap them. A small double clasp on the underside is all that holds them in place, making it quick work to remove the caps- and to carefully put on the new ones, repeating the same process in reverse. You dutifully begin working at the back of Ramattra’s head, those hardest for him to see and find. In doing so, you draw each strand out from his cowl, leaving them dangling over his back. Each time to finish one, the new enamel clicks against his ribs, the sound glassier than the metallic rings it had before. Piece by piece the scratched up silver is replaced but glossy purple. It’s like you’re dying his hair- the thought makes you smile at the absurdity.

You slide around in front of him again- and it’s so rare to really see his cable hair free. Matte black rubber frames the white of his faceplate, but the purple caps decorates the ends of each ribbon, shiny and new. You can’t help yourself- you surge forward and kiss him, right on the seam between titanium white and his purple jaw. He hums at the display of affection, one hand coming up to rest at your waist.

The touch is all the encouragement you need to continue on. A soft press to his shoulder- not nearly enough to topple him- guides him down, back onto the pillows. His hair splays out around him, no longer held captive in his scarf. Sleek dark lines spill onto your sheets, accented by silver bars and now, purple tips. He waits there as you settle over his narrow waist, observing his new appearance. “You look nice...”

The praise- no matter how meager- makes him shy, turning away- stopping only when you touch his faceplate. His voicebox rumbles a quiet, questioning note. You reply only with a stroke of your thumb along the long, white ridge below the optical slit. Not quite a cheekbone, but you follow it back towards his audials- and Ramattra’s hands raise to meet yours, catching it by the wrist. With more delicacy than a war machine should have, he presses your palm against the white plate, nuzzling into the touch.

Through the armor, you can feel his machinery buzzing, vibrating softly. He’s warm already, though you feel it more through the hidden vents on his chest, even his palms are no longer chilly, heating with an array of emotions you can guess easily enough. “Do you like them?”

“Of course,” His voice rumbles through your hand, the speaker only inches from your fingers. “Thank you.”

You smile broadly, excited to have done well. You lean down, press your forehead to his array and let his warmth wash over you. Still, his body vibrates soothingly- as though purring. You laugh softly at the thought, and Ramattra hums a questioning noise.

Finally you lean back, staring down at him. With his hair spread out across your pillows and the rising heat of his body, warming where the insides of your thighs touch his waist, a new thought occurs to you.

“You know…” You start, leaning forward again to press another kiss where his mouth would be. “There’s something else humans do for their birthdays…”

His throat hums as his voicebox clicks on, the vibration making your lips tingle. “If you’re expecting me to eat cake, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

His quip makes you laugh- but you don’t bother explaining. You lean past the hard line of his jaw and press a kiss to the pistons of his neck. His ventilation kicks, almost like an inhale. You chase the noise, licking up one actuator. This earns you a shudder, a hand that lands on your hip and squeezes knowingly.

Immediately, Ramattra begins to sit up, to turn- but when you press on his shoulder again and he stops.

“You never let me take care of you, Rama’,” You half whine, laying more kisses along the sensitive surfaces of his neck, nudging ribbon cable locs out of the way as you go.

“But you have already given me so much…” His voice trails off, head shifting off the to the side, as though looking away from you- and in the same motion exposing more of his neck.

“And you always take care of me. Always.” You kiss back up, nuzzling into the hollow behind his jaw. “Can’t I do the same for you?” You slide to stay in front of his optics, to make him look at you despite whatever shame he’s feeling. Then, letting a mischievous thrill take over, you grab the hard bulge of his lower abdomen- right on top of his cock. “Don’t you want to relax?”

“Yes,” Ramattra groans, then adds, as though his fans’ volume hasn’t already betrayed his desire: “Fine, do what you will.” He lays back down on your pillows, politely turning his head away so you can continue unobstructed.

You almost want to snicker, to tease him about his usual insistence that he doesn’t have those needs... but it is his birthday. And besides, you should savor the rare occasion he lets you take control. So instead, you kiss that sharp corner of his jaw and down, down over dark plating and between pistons to the inner edge of his scarf.

Before you can even shove the silky, tan fabric out of the way, Ramattra grabs the edge and pulls it off entirely, revealing the oft hidden clean, dark lines of his shoulders.

Still, he looks away when he’s done, quietly humming with nervousness- he wants your touch, your skin, to praise and thank you for your care of him- but you’d requested this. So he forces himself back down onto the pillows and regulates his routines, letting you hold the reins.

Without saying a word, you can feel the tension in him. But he still acquiesced to your whim, so you reward him accordingly, tracing over the long edge of black armor, sliping just underneath at the joint of his pauldrons. You draw your way back- and kiss the long pistons mimicking collar bones that usually hide beneath his cowl. Ramattra’s hand at your side twitches again, but he makes no comment. The warmth that continues to pour in from every point of contact is praise enough.

You slide downward, his hand lingering on you as it slides up your back, over your shoulder before he lets it fall beside him on the bed. Here, you trace along the silver bands of armor around his torso. They’re not particularly sensitive, only meant to disperse blunt damage, but when you dip your fingers down to touch the black plating beneath he simulates a sigh. So rarely is that part of him touched at all, the sensors spiking in new, unexpected data.

And here, you trace the flat, purple plate right at the center of his chest. Your fingernail fits between the plate’s edges, scraping delicately, teasing right at the cusp of being inside. Ramattra’s hands tighten in the sheets, another burst of air pushed from his quickly warming body.

Down- until his wide chest narrows into his thin waist, and here you trace along the thick, bundled wiring that sits just above his hips. The rubber disappears into a silvery socket- and that gets your attention. With one hand, you lay your fingers along the hard metal- so delicately running your fingers along the point where the cables connect. He can feel your touch on the metal, but on the bundled wiring, it’s dulled, barely perceptible- until you squeeze down on it with the other hand.

Ramattra shudders, the connected leg twitching beneath you as erroneous data bursts into every system, flooding his HUD with reports of overheats, of disconnects, of faults. It stops as soon as you let go- and Ramattra sighs.

You move inward, kissing the smooth gray paneling that finishes out his torso. It’s not nearly as sensitive as what hides behind, but when you dip your tongue into one of the divots that hide the latches, Ramattra shudders, twists his hands into the sheets so hard you’re surprised he doesn’t pop any seams.

There was a time he’d have insisted he didn’t need your touch- at least in a sexual manner- that his cock was made only for you, for your pleasure- but now, all you have to do is lean back. His need overtakes any shame; without even being asked, Ramattra clicks open those hidden latches and pulls the protective plating away.

Ramattra shudders, almost relaxes with his cock finally standing free. It’s as gorgeous as ever, a semitransparent purple length, more uniformly straight than a human’s- and with its not-quite-clarity, you can see the mesh of sensors inside, the row of indicator lights that run up the underside- here, all lit up red to match his default. As tempting as it is to descend immediately on the translucent silicone, you resist. This is supposed to be a gift after all. Instead, you ease your thumbs over the revealed inner plating, stroking the rarely-touched dark metal. A rumble purrs from Ramattra’s chest. Despite his previous stillness, his hips jump softly when you touch the beveled edge where his cock meets his body. You tease him there a moment, running your fingertips around the angled edges, admiring the smoothness of their machining, how his self-made appendage fits so neatly into a frame not designed for such a thing.

“Are you-” He starts. You don’t let him finish, already running your knuckles up the underside of the smooth silicone. Dry as it is, your skin drags and Ramattra’s speech fizzles out with a shiver. The sound is so tempting, you can’t help but chase it. Surging forward, you lick exactly where your fingers had just been, from the smooth, hard plating up over his inlaid lights to the rounded tip. And this time he gasps- his fans ramping up, buzzing to life in his abdomen.

Ramattra says your name. The stress on his voice box is already so severe you can’t tell if he’s whining, frustrated, or embarrassed. Probably all three. You smile up at him, focus on the dark slits of his optics and smooth one hand up his body, gliding over wires and armor and the dark spaces between. His hand meets yours, guides your palms together, interlocks your fingers.

“Relax.” You coo, squeezing the hard planes of his hand. “I want to do this for you.”

He hesitates- body stiff as he considers the request. But eventually he makes a noise like a scoff, but drops his head back onto the pillows. A smile pulls your lips- who else had this power over him?

So you reward him for his patience, for letting you do this: in one motion you take the head of his cock in your mouth. Ramattra’s hand twitches against yours, his vocoder clicking on and off in a spit of static. All at once he’s hit with the raw sensory information: your warm, soft mouth closing around him, your tongue pressing up against him- and the simulated errors that follow. White noise creeps in his cables, making the insides of his plates itch, the world fuzzing all around him.

You push further, easing yourself down until the tip brushes the back of your throat and holding him there. Ramattra groans, a deep noise that rumbles from his throat while his ventilation continues to purr in his chest. You pause there, suckling at his warming silicone, rolling your tongue on the thicker sections around the indicator lights. Each motion earns you another noise, another twitch of his hands.

You bob there easily, basking in his voice, the mechanical sounds within, letting him build up slowly. Which makes it even better when you slide your free hand to the base of his cock, enclosing the length not in your mouth and stroking.

“H-aahhh!” His head snaps back- and his hips jump. His cock hits the back of your throat, the silicone bending softly, nearly slips further- and you gag. Your whole mouth convulses around his cock, instinctively trying to push him back out- which only makes Ramattra moan louder. His hand that was twisted in the sheets lands on your shoulder as you pull yourself off him. You gasp for air-

And when Ramattra looks down, you’re a vision. Your eyes watering softly, cheeks red, lips swollen with long strings of saliva connecting them to the purple silicone. A thrill of being able to ruin you without even doing anything rushes through his systems- before being pushed down by the need to check in. “Are you alr- aaah…”

You stroke his cock, a tight grip squeezing the words from him in a burst of static. It’s easier, smoother with your spit slicking your palm. A twist of your wrist makes him all but collapse again. You laugh, half-hoarse from the strain on your throat. “How’s that?”

“Good.” He whines- and must immediately realize how wrecked he sounds, because his voice box clicks with a refresh and tries again: “It’s good.” Still breathy, it’s not much of an improvement.

You grin down at him, taking the moment to catch your breath- and to make a show of slowly lowering your head down. A playful lick at the tip makes his neck twitch- which turns to his head rolling to the side as you take him back into your mouth.

Now with your hand working in tandem, his voice fizzles through a sigh. You keep your pace even, bobbing your head, swiping your tongue and squeezing with your hand, alternating each in measured movements. The rhythm lets him relax, embrace each wave of simulated errors, drifting on the current of misfiring connections and the heat of your body. Which presents you with the view of his body nearly melting into your mattress, his chest rising and falling in mock respiration, head twisted away, the long cords of his hair curling all around him, the purple caps like jewels decorating each end.

Heat builds between your legs, but you push your own need down, focusing on keeping up the pattern that’s made him so pliant before you. Only when his huffs begin to rise in pitch do you move on- by lowering your mouth again until his tip once again nudges the back of your throat. And this time you breathe through your nose, align your throat, and take him deeper.

You brace your arm against his hips- but this time his legs lock up, leaving only his hands grasping at you, one squeezing your hand and the other twisting into your shirt. Air hisses from his vents as his internal heat rises. Tears pool at the corners of your eyes and you fight to keep your throat relaxed, easing him deeper inch by inch- swallowing reflexively around his thick head.

Your lips meet your hand- nearly to that dark paneling you’d been stroking earlier. And here you hold him, moving so gently to keep the tenuous reins on your control. He seems to also know- because he hardly moves at all save for the uncommanded twitching of his fingers.

He’s fighting for his own composure, steam vents popping in desperation to keep his overheating at bay. Each cycle he’s battling subroutines that alert him to simulated errors, make him clear caches and reassign tasks, anything to keep himself from thrusting up into your soft, wet mouth again. No matter how amazing it felt, nor how stunning you were afterwards. He wants and he resists.

And you just can’t have that. You raise up enough to breathe through your nose again, taking in fresh oxygen as you work your tongue against the sensory mesh in the silicone. Still, Ramattra sighs, lowers his guard- the heat of you is torturous. When you’ve recovered enough, you lower your head again. Once again Ramattra’s fans kick like an inhale, pulling in cooling air just to keep himself calm-

You squeeze his hand, then slide yours free. His head lifts, curious as to what you’re doing-

And as your lips finally meet the beveled edge at the base of his cock, you lay each palm on the thick, rubber-coated bundles of wiring on each side of his hips. A fraction of a second- more than enough time for Ramattra to realize what’s happening just before you grab. The bundles barely move, but in his HUD it’s like stars, like a solar flare distorting every signal inside him- the real static drowns out the fake, matches your mouth and its overwhelming heat. He loses his grasp on his movements; his hips snap up, driven only by base desire. Even fully buried in your throat his basest routines only cry for more, more-

Another pulse of white noise nearly wipes his systems as you push against the bundles, trying to get his legs down on the bed again- and you look up at him. Through snow-fuzzed feed he meets your eyes, watered and red, your lips stretched taut around his cock- and in an instant he’s gone.

You choke, sputter as you finally pull off entirely- just in time to watch Ramattra’s array begin to flicker. His hands twitch, each finger moving in different directions, one shoulder raising up, hips half rolling away from you, his neck sharply turning to the side. The motions stop- and the red lights of his array fade out, his body frozen in the same awkward position. Slowly the noise from within him dies down as his fans idle and stop.

Your chest burns as you catch your breath, wiping saliva from your chin. It’s so rare for him to be so incredibly vulnerable, entirely offlined. It sparks pride in you first, then affection as you again wonder who else has ever seen him like this.

You touch his hips- careful to only take them by the handle-like bars- and adjust them so they are once again flush with the mattress. His cock bobs as you do, the soft silicone swaying- still obscenely shiny with your spit. You fish out the towel from the same hiding spot you’d left his gift and begin to wipe down the majority of the mess.

Then, you move upwards. It’s harder to realign his shoulders with the heft of his upper body, but you at least smooth out his hands. Like this, he looks more asleep than knocked unconscious, more peaceful than you ever would have imagined him. Laying serenely in his bed, hair splayed out around him in a purple-ringed halo. You kiss the long arm of his collar bone piston, linger there in quiet praise, then stretch yourself out alongside him.

It’s another minute before the humming of his internals kicks on again. You watch this, too, with rapt fascination- the so very slow process of him waking up. His array snaps on with an orange processing light and lingers there for another two minutes before flashing green once, then dropping into his familiar red.

His head shifts on the pillows, resettling on them in a more intentional way. He stops there- and stares at you. You can’t see his optics, but laid next to him as you are, there’s nowhere else for him to be looking.

“You alright?” You prompt after the silence lingers a touch too long- and the worry that your fumbling with his actual wiring has harmed him somehow has begun to creep in.

But Ramattra nods once- a simple, minimalist motion- before turning his body towards you entirely and enveloping you in his long arms. He holds you, brings you closer until every inch of your is touching him, from your chest to your feet.

“Thank you,” His voice has fully reset, clear and almost steady. If you didn’t know him so well you might’ve heard the softness laid over the words. Less sincerity more… awe. “That was…” He trails off.

“I’m glad.“ You smile broadly, let the love that bubbles up in your chest spill over. Your arms don’t cover nearly as much of him, but you slip them around each side of his tiny waist and squeeze as hard as you can against the metal plates of his back.

“I will have to… repay you.” He says after a minute, then adds on “Eventually.”

“You don’t have to.” You smile and snuggle deeper into his arms. “Thank you for letting me do something for you for once.”

Ramattra simulates a snort. “Yes, well. Perhaps you’ve swayed me on the tradition of birthdays.”

#Not mine #i mean teeeeechnically it is mine cuz collab???#whatever lol #HERE BE THE GOODS #it was very fascinating watching this form #listen it may only be text but i ain't a writer so watching an actually competent writer do their thing “live” was an experience #done a few collabs and art trades through the years but never with a writer before #the deadline was a bit stressful but hey it all worked out in the end #AND LOOK AT THIS #KAT WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO MAKE THIS SO HOT #... ME TECHNICALLY BUT ALL I SAID WAS BODY WORSHIP #YOU DID NOT HAVE TO GO SO HARD #BUT YOU DID ANYWAY #AND I'M FUCKING L I V I N G FOR IT-

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